


Light leave your eyes

by artxsts



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Instability, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 03:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12673647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artxsts/pseuds/artxsts
Summary: Billy’s a lot fucked up and Steve’s a whole lotta ‘too sweet for this boy’—(a/n: may make this chaptered depending on response)





	Light leave your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!!! Few things I want to mention quickly.
> 
> This is very Billy-centric to begin with because I want to establish the very canon divergent narrative I’ve brought in.
> 
> I don’t really support this ship in the context of the show as I can recognise it’s kinda gross considering Billy’s general attitude. imo Billy’s homelife don’t justify his actions but I’ve tried to bring a new perspective by having Billy reflect on what he’s done and yeah basically he’s pretty fucked up. 
> 
> I feel like a lotta fics were glossing over Billy’s demeanour but I just rewatched the last episode and he’s a psychopath so I didn’t wanna dress that up lol. Also wanted to write something which wasn’t as sexual as everything in the tags rn, not that there’s anything wrong with that, just needed a break (for myself lol) 
> 
> Heavy trigger warnings on self harm extreme dissociation etc.. 
> 
> And as always these aren’t my characters and all rights reserved to whoever the heck!!

There is something wrong with Billy Hargrove.

  
It’s been a few months since his kid step-sister smashed a heavy metal, nail clad baseball bat in between his legs. And hell, he still asks himself how she managed to do that, the thing must’ve weighed the same as she did. She was as tough as the nails on the weapon itself, she was learning from him he guessed.

  
But the fact still stands, there is something wrong with Billy Hargrove.

  
There was something about that night, the terror in those kids eyes, the stupid look on stupid Harrington’s face, — something, which made him feel like the serial antagonist from a thriller, he saw himself outside of his body as evil, a villain. He saw something which made his insides scream and his mind think up words which had him ripping his hair out, words like killer, words like murderer.

  
There’s not much you can do though, you see, when you’re used to your fists being a battering ram and every object — and being, around you being a punching bag, then it’s hard to stop. If your knuckles don’t feel that familiar ache then you itch, like some sort of sick addict.

  
It’s been a few months since that event. Yet he still winds up wiping wet blood on his jeans every other day, still walks as if he’s at the top of the food chain, and in a way, he is.

  
He wholly stays away from the little freaks and most importantly, Steve. Billy thought it was hard avoiding his gaze for the two weeks his fucked up face was healing, wanting to appreciate his handiwork at every chance he could, but it was worse at present. Two months later when billy has caught a glimpse of the scar he left next to Steve’s right eye. Pink and angry, he knows it’ll scar because it’s thick and deep— he has similar ones on his back, ironically, also from a plate, his dad had thrown at him. Funny how things come back full circle. It’s hard, because knowing he’s left this fucked up little momento on Steve forever doesn’t totally make him feel that guilty, and that’s how he knows there’s something wrong with him.

  
He wonders what advice a shrink would give him, ‘stop wringing people’s necks and beating the living shit out of them’ maybe, though he thinks they would word it more eloquently, maybe ‘stop your violent tendencies and find other outlets’ not possible. Even if billy could channel some of his anger in to painting a pretty picture he could never imagine a world where he wasn’t feeling skin and bone tenderise underneath his hands. Couldn’t picture a world where he had the strength and control to pulverise something and not use it. Whenever he thinks about it his hands shake with some sort of want.

  
The thing is, Billy is smart. So the thought crosses his mind that maybe the reason he likes fighting so much is because he never comes out too hot either. He’s always aching whether it be from retaliation or from the skin chipped away at his knuckles from his own handiwork.

  
So this brings us to present day, Billy stands in front of his mirror at 3am. It’s summer so he has the window open, though it doesn’t get too hot in this shithole anyway, it’s nothing like Cali. He can smell the trees though, he doesn’t completely hate pine and the way the freshness of the air around it stills and swells in this town like it’s some minty fireplace.

  
He’s shirtless and has taken to poking and prodding at the dark purple bruises littering his abdomen from god knows what. Stings a little. So then he starts clawing at the tender skin, gripping and pulling and pushing in in in, until he thinks his lungs might collapse. He revels in it, his eyes stinging as he begins to beat in the bruises on his ribs. And then he stops. He breathes raggedly like he’s played a full game of ball. He stays there, standing, eyes wide, before realising, he enjoyed that, whatever it was.

  
He gets giddy, laughs like he did when Max stabbed him with that needle, laughs like he did when he was beating in Harrington’s dumb fucking face. He wants more. He grabs his switchblade off his bedside and carves a long deep line in the fleshy part of his stomach, right in the middle curving up towards his right rib. He laughs as blood paints his hands and the rest of his room as he continues to pace around grabbing at anything which he can use to creatively hurt himself. Slamming the window down on his arm. Hitting his calves with a bat. He starts punching the walls maniacally at some point. He’s dislodging his hand from the fifth hole when his dad rushes in, followed by Max and Susan.

  
His father gets in one hit and Billy slumps on to the ground, leaning on his bed with a smile on his face.

  
He sits, surrounded by blood and destruction. He looks like god damn Carrie.

  
He expects to be pulverised by his father but the man has this unmoving look of disgust on his face. So do the others actually.

  
“Hey dad, aren’t ya’ —“ he pauses as he lets out a bloody cough followed by a chuckle, “-aren’t ya’ gonna hit me.” A response is mumbled back, actually a few voices are heard, he thinks he hears ‘hospital’ uttered in a female voice but all he really hears is static so he begs again, “hit me dad,” “please” “dad” “dad” “dad” “hit me, please” “please hit me, and don’t stop” “don’t stop until I can’t breathe, dad” “please.”

————————

His dad has left him alone for a few weeks now. And Billy’s been pretty subdued. Sort of, like he only really has started one fight in the last two weeks because somebody looked at him the wrong way. Other than that he’s been his usual, cocky, flirty, dickhead self.

  
Except he does kind of find every excuse to hurt himself which doesn’t involve fighting and a lot of noise. Which usually results in him making use out of his switchblade or most commonly going in to the woods and making an ass out of himself by punching a tree. Once, he did it so much he thought he saw flesh poking out underneath the raw and discarded skin of his knuckles.

  
But at least he isn’t almost killing people.

  
Billy’s in English, Steve is sitting a desk away from him (to his right) and Billy can see the scar he left next to his eye.

  
At least Billy isn’t almost killing Steve Harrington ever again.

  
And coincidentally, just as Billy is looking at the floppy haired freak, his counterpart decides to strike up conversation.

  
“So, what gives?” And god Steve, would it hurt to be a bit more polite. Billy replies, “what” he hopes he sounds as monotonous as he made out to be.

  
“You’ve been quiet this week, what, no pretty boy jokes?” And Billy almost thanks god that the two months since that event have caused their relationship to be somewhat, normal.

Yet billy still can’t get past it, feels like it was a turning point. Because it’s not normal for the image of him almost killing Steve to play on his mind whenever he’s about to fall asleep right? Billy thinks it’s just him being ruthless and revelling In his success in that big fight, Billy also thinks he might need to admit that he just feels guilty.

  
He must’ve zoned out because Harrington’s snapping his fingers in front of his eyes. And god that’s fucking condescending, he plays it off “don’t worry pretty boy I haven’t forgotten about you.”

  
Steve sighs, fiddling with the frayed end of his sweater sleeves. Their teacher is distracted so he turns to Billy. “You need a friend” he says and now Billy opens his mouth in surprise.

  
“I have plenty of friends, fuckface”

And Steve isn’t phased by Billy’s reply, “you haven’t talked to them in two weeks,” and Billy’s already cutting Steve off, “yeah? Your point? They’d still bend if fucking told them to?”

  
And Steve just sits back and looks at him incredulously, and leans forward with a sort of wonder in his eyes (Billy fucking hates it)  
“And that’s what a friend is to you? someone who will do what you say when you ask them to? Sounds more like a minion to me,”

  
And now Billy is sort of, kinda, really, fed the fuck up. He cracks his knuckles in a way which feels nostalgic at this point and his features go dark. Now Steve must notice this change because he stiffens up, sits back and starts deescalating. Steve begins again, more thoughtfully this time.

  
“I’m saying, —“ and he leans forward, says it in almost a whisper, “- I can be your friend”  
And Billy laughs, “fuck off”

  
“No Hargrove I’m dead serious, you’d only need to do one thing,”

  
Billy raises a brows and crosses his arms over his chests, a smirk almost gracing his features. It’s been a while since he’s shown anything other than a bitter laugh, let alone a smile.

  
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He asks back, giving in to his curiosity.

  
Steve sits back like he’s won some battle and Billy instantly recognises the look on his face as something he’s accustomed to; confidence.  
“Easy, apologise”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope u enjoyed?? Gimme feedback and tell me if I should write more + sorry for grammatical errors I’m shitty and tired.


End file.
